January 2015

new year's dawn
light unknown 'til now
honeys night

day moon . . .
one half of it lost
in the blue

climate change—
the silence of the lambs
gnaws at my bones

temple bell—
the stone cold silence
it conceals

new year heat
my words take refuge
in the glib

making do with meeting ends

just the emptiness
left behind

moon-filled night—
clouds of unknowing
burn within

a divined stable
star-crossed gifts

legal eagle
the fine print appears
less blurred

drop by drop cloud-fall of joy


summer light . . .
this path turns away
from the feast

cave weta . . .
the tenuousness
of light

in flight the colour of what was


cloud fade—
the shapeshifting light
of being
autumn sun—
exoticism blooms
from an oak
this moon too
it all comes to
cloud-choked night—
closed eyes recreate
the expanse
early bird
birthing the world
into which 
it sings
cattle trough—
a paddock jumps
into its sound
night deepens—
just the sound of words
to feel this
where I'm not
shapes twist the entrails
of a cumulus
air moves
to my voice—
the heat
the words I write
stepped over
by a fly
I listen for the tone 
in my voice
from the hole
rise the dull thuds
of our goodbyes
moss script—
the stony silence
now hers
profit margin—
you diss my idols
I break your face
day moon cloud—
all that fades without words
fades without words
unseasonal rain—
in tomorrow's news
the death of today
tidal mud—
the sound of loss
tugs at me
summer clouds
trailing off somewhere
with my voice
dense with stars
night grows expansive
behind my eyes 
day moon— 
your disabled normalcy,
my son
new year heat
the very air slows
to my pace
this consciousness . . .
what does it feel like
as it ends?
dusky sky
wrenching the silence 
from silence
trailing off  somewhere with my voice
       one who lies in here
be done on earth 
     just as it is in heaven
lingering dusk— 
daylight withdraws its last
semblance of order
night of stars— 
the fullness within me
flickers unseen
leaving light— 
the shimmer on the brink
of seeing
summer bounty . . .
city malls birthing
danger zone
my shadow skirts
the obvious
wormholed night . . .
I sleep past the ends
of my dreams
tadpole galaxy— 
I eavesdrop on the drama
played out before us
us and them
taking the unknown
star risen night— 
the depth of longing
still in me
ripe onion— 
the outer roundness
of her belly
datastore . . .
virtual shadows
of my self
moving water . . .
my shadow laps at
the edges
cloudless day . . .
so much harder to see
what lies hidden
burnt offering— 
the move from holocaust
to Holocaust
what secret are you
drenching me in?
string theory— 
another mosquito
sounds me out
spirit wind— 
mosquitoes zero
in on me

paper wasps . . .
facial recognition
sets us apart
year of light . . .
our eyes strain away from
this scorching earth
distant gong— 
the toll life is taking
out of me
life cycle
one revolution

By the intermittent light of cars snaking through city street canyons, a man, in a language once his own, turns into the arms of the dark goddess, who once bore him the dawn; a lifelong grave in waiting.

'Te wahi ngaro, e Hine.' The limitless, the silent, the black night from which his eyes had habitually cowered with ashen words.

The night of stars turning according to vast and secret laws become the spirals of his dream as he sinks wordless into the dark mud of his ancestors.

He awakens slightly as a red taillight flickers by, turning his eyes inwards towards a sanctuary light or the eyes of the goddess flashing on some horizon; his eyes, which had once imaged the war chants of his ancestors notated as heads impaled on dripping stakes.

still water . . .
a black swan arches
into the depths

The debris of a consciousness once filling the dimensions of time and space wash away in his final agony just as the flesh-like image of Te-Atua-among-us was washed away when the last witnesses’ eyes were extinguished and the perfect love for Beatrice that was no more the moment Dante breathed his last.

my shadow . . .
the page I dwell on



does the nearness of non-thinking, or that which passes for such, break through, breath by maddening breath, the fogs of perception into the tripping tongue clicks and aspirations enfolding rounded sounds of words snatched from the void of dead letters ocean-bobbing in corked bottles

all night
the namelessness
of becoming


After the storm that howls some place else now, trees are again trees and the infinitude of stars continues.

By candlelight, between her and I, the criss-crossing of words through the shadows that flicker within each of us.

"Words and swords in accord parting soul and spirit, baring the pulsing rhythms of the heart," I murmur with a voice that separates from me.

"Yes." Her voice opening like a rose.

remnant moon
once all was vision
the view flawless